


Thin Line

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, John is Sherlock's student, M/M, Omega John, Omega Verse, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teenlock, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After rehab, Mycroft forces Sherlock into teaching for six months at their elder brother Sherrinford's academy for unpresented youth where he meets the perfect student, John Watson. From John's tumultuous homelife and Sherlock's desperate pleas with his brother's boyfriend to help solve crimes, their lives entwine together as John presents as omega and has to make decisions that will effect his life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the introductory chapter. The juicy Johnlock goodness will be up as soon as I finish the next chapter. Enjoy!

Sun shone through the large window, lighting up the cozy sitting room and throwing shadows along the antique wallpaper. A man sat on the large sofa, tucked into the corner with a boy lying across his lap, playing with his shirt cuffs. A little girl skips into the room holding a tin of biscuits, the skirt of her summer dress fluttering about her knees playfully, sandy blonde curls bouncing around her slim shoulders. Verdigris eyes peer up at the man on the sofa as she climbs up next to him and the boy.

“I got the chocolate ones that Papa likes, Daddy,” the girl smiled, her delicate features scrunching up adorably. The man ruffled her hair as she snuggled down into his side, his arm around her.

“Thank you, Vivienne,” the man replied, taking the tin and doling out one biscuit to each child and then one for himself.

“Daddy?” Vivienne asked shyly, her adorably high cheekbones turning a rosy pink.

“Yes, love?” the man asked, finishing off his biscuit.

“Would you tell me the story of how you and Papa fell in love?” she ventured, ducking her head, letting her golden tendrils mask her face.

“Where is this coming from?” the man asked, bemused. The girl squirmed around and hid her face in her father’s jumper.

“At lunchtime, all the girls huddle together under the old oak tree in front of the school and talk about silly things like who the insipid women on the telly are marrying and how their parents fell in love,” the boy sighed, opening his navy eyes and glancing up at the man.

“Really?” the man asked, a faint smile on his thin lips.

“Yes,” the boy affirmed, closing his eyes and sighing again.

“Well, then. I think you’re both old enough to hear this. Now, you have to know that things were a bit different in our day and your father’s and my situation was very unique. We were both old enough to make our own, adult decisions and that no matter what, we have always loved one another with everything we have,” the man began, giving a stern look to his children. The boy rolled over and heaved himself up before sprawling across the sofa next to his sister. Vivienne giggled and nodded her head cheerily, gazing up at her father with adoring eyes.

“Yes, Daddy, we know about your circumstances. We’re kids, not deaf. We hear the whispers at family functions you know,” the boy grumbled, crossing his arms and scowling at his shoes.

“Now, Hamish, if you don’t want to hear it, you can always wait for Papa elsewhere,” the man chided, shifting in his seat to get more comfortable.

“I still don’t know why he had to go by himself. We’re not babies anymore—you can go out with him on cases without having Mrs. Hudson look after us. And when she’s out, you can leave us by ourselves. You know how huffy he gets when you can’t come with him,” Hamish replied, a pout set firmly on his full lips.

“God, you look just like your father when you sulk,” the man smiled, ruffling the boy’s black curls. Hamish’s dark blue gaze met the man’s matching glance and grinned toothily.

“Hammy looks just like Papa when he’s upset, too!” Vivienne giggled, tugging at the boy’s shirt cuff.

“And Vivi looks just like Daddy when she’s in a strop,” Hamish laughed as Vivienne’s face fell into a scowl.

“Alright, alright. Do you two want to hear about mine and Papa’s love story or not?” the man asked, sending a look to both children. As expected, they both turned their full attention to their father. “Well, let me see. It all started when I was in my last year of secondary school….”


	2. A Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Mycroft discuss things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing this story in short chapters because I have school starting up in two weeks so I won't be able to write much, so I figured I'd get y'all used to the short segments from the beginning. So, buildup to the actual plot. Also, if you have any better names in mind for this story, please tell me. I need some serious help in that department. Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes sat slumped in the oversized armchair in front of a massive oak desk covered in papers and writing utensils. His arch enemy sat across from him in a lavish, leather swivel chair that squeaked when he moved. The former had a scowl set into his angular features while the latter had a pinched expression on his drawn face.

“Sherlock,” the man began with a pleasant tone, his eyes hard.

“Mycroft,” the detective ground out as if it were the most distasteful string of letters he’d ever uttered.

“You’ve only been clean for thirty days,” the elder Holmes said before the younger stood from his chair.

“I’m perfectly fine. I do _not_ need to be watched like some laboratory rat,” Sherlock bit, throwing a glare at his brother.

“You know it’s for your own good. Six months. That is my final offer or you’re going back to rehab for the recommended year,” the older man said, never looking away from his brother’s volatile gaze. There was a full minute of silence filled with even, shallow breaths from both parties in the opulent office.

“I get to choose the subject,” Sherlock assented, glaring at his brother with all the force in his lanky, six-foot form.

“So long as you at least show up every day, I’m not concerned with what, or how, you teach,” Mycroft agreed, picking up a file from his desk. “I assume you would rather teach chemistry,” he quirked a thin brow at the younger man, handing over the file before being given consent. Sherlock huffs and takes the folder before opening it and skimming the contents.

“Am I to be given a different name or no?” he asked, storing the information in his memory banks.

“No. You will only be teaching for half the year as the previous professor is on maternity leave until next autumn,” Mycroft answered, leaning back a bit in his chair.

“Six months and Lestrade will let me back on cases again,” Sherlock stated, glancing up at his brother. Mycroft inclined his head in assent. With a grunt, Sherlock flipped the file closed and made his way to the door.

“You start on Monday,” Mycroft reminded before the other man could make it out of the office. “And we’ve arranged to have your things brought to the guest bedroom at mine and Gregory’s flat.” With that, Sherlock opened the heavy, wooden door and slipped out into the hall, letting it shut heavily behind him. Mycroft sighed and shifted in his seat before bringing his mug to his lips. “He’s going to fucking kill me one day,” the man hummed before taking a sip of his lukewarm coffee. 


	3. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets the run down and meets John for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherrinford is the eldest Holmes brother in William S. Baring-Gould's fictitious biography of ACD's Sherlock Holmes, and I love it so much that I decided to keep Sherrinford in my story. The biography is called Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street: A Life of the World's First Consulting Detective and I totally recommend y'all read it. As for ages, I see Sherlock as being about 24, Mycroft as being about 32, and Sherrinford as about 36. Oh, and John is 17 here. ~~Also, I think I referred to Mycroft as being the "eldest brother" in the previous chapter, so I'll go back and fix any discrepancies tomorrow when I have fresher eyes.~~ Enjoy!
> 
> **EDIT: I've just went back and fixed some inconsistencies as well as added a bit to the end to make it flow better into the next chapter. Also, I had to change a few words that autocorrect fucked up.**

Sherrinford Holmes smiled in greeting as his youngest brother stood in the middle of his office. The young man was dressed in a sharp black suit tailored to perfection and a deep aubergine button-up that clung to his frame like a second skin. His soft black curls were tousled and his verdigris eyes were as sharp as the cheekbones that sat below them.

“Ah, Sherlock! How lovely to see you today,” the man grinned before standing himself and making his way over to the younger man. The closer he got, the more Sherlock was engulfed by the man’s bland, beta scent. It was infinitely more calming than the meddling middle Holmes brother's alpha scent. The younger Holmes’ shoulders relaxed a bit as the familiar smell surrounded him.

“Sherrinford,” Sherlock greeted, taking in the man’s office. It was definitely not as opulent as the middle Holmes brother, but it was a far cry from average, just like the man himself. Standing at six-one, Sherrinford was definitely an attractive man. He possessed Mycroft’s ginger hair and Sherlock’s angular features, but he had a certain boyish softness about him that the younger Holmes brothers lacked on the day-to-day.

“I assume dear Mycroft has given you your course materials and schedule,” Sherrinford inquired, running a slim hand through his hair. Sherlock nodded and held up a simple, black leather messenger bag. “Lesson plans as well?” The youngest Holmes nodded shortly. “Well, then, let me show you to your classroom. Follow me, brother mine!” The man smiled, opening the door and walking out, Sherlock following behind.

“Headmaster Holmes! You’ve got a call on line three,” a short, stout woman with garish pink lipstick and blonde hair said from behind her desk in the reception area.

“Hold on a tic, Sherlock,” Sherrinford said before picking up the receiver and exchanging a few words with the person on the other line. After a brief moment, the man put the phone down and jotted something down on the sign in sheet. "Mister Watson will be late this morning. Just go ahead and send him into my office when he arrives to sign in, Doris," the eldest Holmes said before turning back to his brother. “I apologize—it’s school policy to check in with the headmaster if you’re running late or are to be absent. The student body is so small and we need to verify whether the student is presenting or not so as to get ready for the impending transfer of records.”

Sherlock hummed before following his brother out into the corridor. “I won’t bore you with a tour as I’m sure you already know where everything is since the school is so small, but if you do have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask me or any of your new colleagues,” Sherrinford said, looking over to his brother. He was amazed at how healthy the youngest Holmes looked. The last time Sherrinford had seen Sherlock, he was strapped into a hospital bed with grey skin and cocaine in his veins. A bad trip, they said.

Shaking his head, to clear it of negative thoughts, Sherrinford opened a door on their right into an empty classroom with six lab tables set up with all the necessary equipment to perform rudimentary experiments with.

“This will be your classroom for the semester. There is a large closet of supplies through that door at the back of the class, and your office is through that door at the front of the class. You should have everything you need, but if you don’t, please tell me. We’re such a small academy that we don’t have heads of departments, and it’s just you and Professors Kensington and Jones in the Science department anyway, so it’s nothing to worry about.

“You’ve got your lesson plans and your schedule, so I’ll go ahead and leave you to it. School starts in a half hour and ends at three. Lunch is from noon to one in the cafeteria. If you’ve got any questions, I’m just four doors down. Have a wonderful day, Sherlock,” Sherrinford smiled before clapping his youngest brother on the shoulder and exiting the room towards his office. Sherlock took a look around the small classroom and scowled.

“Six months,” he muttered before setting his bag on his new desk and opening it up. Before he could even get his folders out, the door opened behind him and a small, mousy boy stepped inside, letting it shut behind him. The boy was a bit on the pudgy side and had short, curly hair and glasses.

“Um, good morning,” the boy squeaked, shrinking back from Sherlock’s shrewd gaze. They stood there, staring at one another for a long moment before Sherlock went back to unpacking his bag. “My name’s Mike. Are you the new chemistry teacher?” the boy asked politely, shifting from foot to foot. Sherlock’s left eye twitched.

“If you’re going to stand in front of the door and babble on about the obvious all day, don’t. I recommend you take a seat and refrain from inflicting your words on other, hopefully more intelligent people,” Sherlock snapped, flipping through his text book.

Mike shrank back and scuttled off to the back of the room as quickly as possible.

As Sherlock looked over what he was to teach that day, the room slowly filled up with sluggish youths, yawning and groaning at the early hour.

The bell rang at nine sharp and Sherrinford’s voice came over the intercom system.

“Good morning, my dear children! Today is January 12,1999. Let’s start out with the day’s words of wisdom….”

The eldest Holmes continued on for another five minutes before ending his morning announcements with a, “have a truly wonderful and productive day, everyone!” Sherlock glared at the text in front of him as he heard all eight of his students shuffle and whisper in the cold silence of the chemistry lab.

“Um, Professor…?” a small girl in the front of the room raised her hand tentatively.

“What?” Sherlock snapped, looking up at the small blonde. Her warm brown eyes didn’t waver from his intense look and she smiled a bit.

“Where is Professor Harrison?” she asked politely. Sherlock gave her a blank look in return. “Um, he was our previous chemistry professor, sir,” she added apprehensively.

“Professor Harrison is on maternity leave for the remainder of the year,” Sherlock said, grabbing up his text and moving toward the podium at the front centre of the classroom.

“Oh. Um, will you be filling in for him this whole semester, or are you just a temporary replacement?” the girl asked again.

“What is your name?” Sherlock asked, looking down at the blonde.

“Mary Morstan, sir,” she replied shortly. Sherlock let a smirk settle over his plump lips.

“Miss Morstan, we would all benefit from the ceasing of your inane drivel before our IQs drop any further,” he drawled, thumbing through the large tome settled in the bend of his elbow. Mary stared at him, her mouth agape. “Do please close your mouth, Miss Morstan. You may swallow a fly at this rate.” Mary snapped her mouth shut and glared at the long, lean man at the front of the class.

“My name is Sherlock Holmes, but you will address me as Professor Holmes. I will be attempting to better your unfortunate intellects for the next six months. Do not ask idiotic questions and do your reading. I do not give extra credit and I do not offer condolences for your own stupidity and laziness. Manage yourselves like the adults you will be in less than a year’s time and I just might listen to your concerns. Open your books to page three hundred and ninety four.”

The students all glanced around at one another in surprise and fear before shuffling about, finding and opening their books to the aforementioned page.

Sherlock was halfway through his lecture when there was a knock at the door. Pausing mid-sentence, he crossed the room and opened the door to the corridor. Standing in front of him was a short, compact boy with sandy blonde hair and eyes as dark as the ocean. His tanned skin held onto a light dusting of freckles leftover from childhood and his uniform was neat as a pin if a little small and worn.

“Hello, my name is John Watson. Headmaster Holmes gave me a pass,” the boy said, handing Sherlock a pink slip of paper with the eldest Holmes’ scrawl running across it. Sherlock nodded his head and looked the boy over. The first thing that hit him was the boy’s scent. It was definitely pre-presentation, but even so it was heady and sweet like an omega in heat. Sherlock took in a lungful and exhaled gently, quirking his lips up at the short blond. John shifted from foot to foot and blushed, his soft eyelashes fluttering as he took in his new professor’s scent as well.

John could definitely tell that Sherlock was an alpha just from looking at him, but his smell… It was musky and dark with hints of leather and tobacco, but there was something so uniquely male about it that made the boy swoon.

“Take a seat and join us, Mister Watson. Turn to page four hundred and two in your text,” Sherlock purred, taking a last, intrigued look at the boy before walking over to his podium and continuing his lecture on balancing chemical equations. 

John nodded hazily and stumbled over to one of the unoccupied desks. His friend Mike shot him a questioning look, but John just waved him away minutely, opening his textbook and flipping to page four hundred and two. 


End file.
